


A Revenant’s Reckoning

by LunaMoth116



Series: A Wider Circle (The Circleverse) [18]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Everyone Being Awesome, Friendship, Gen, Mage!Sherlock, Minor Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Non-Graphic Violence, Some Plot, Templar!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 20:39:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18630865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaMoth116/pseuds/LunaMoth116
Summary: “Are we mad for even considering this?” John wondered aloud. “Or can two rogues, a mage, and a warrior really defeat a revenant?”“Can't it be both?” Sherlock asked offhandedly.Or: Sherlock, John, Greg and Mary take care of some unfinished business for the Hero of Ferelden.





	A Revenant’s Reckoning

**Author's Note:**

> _Hi all! So, it’s been a_ long _time since I added to this series, for several reasons that I’ll spare you the details of. I’m not sure when I’ll be fully getting back to it, but I found this lingering in my Google Drive and thought I might as well share. I’m starting school in the fall in addition to working full-time, and don’t know how much time I’ll have to write, but wanted to get at least one thing posted this year._  
>  _This is a sequel of sorts to Ch. 3 of “A Scene Misplaced”,[“A Hero's Journey”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049912/chapters/3504119). No need to read that first, but feel free to. All you really need to know is that after reading Arya Surana’s Blight journals, Sherlock and John learned that she and her crew found all but one Corpse Walker in the Black Vials quest. Naturally, they decided they were the ones to finish the job. Aside from that, this isn't really connected to any other stories and is more of an experiment, but I had too much fun writing it not to share. Thank you for reading!_
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Dragon Age _is owned by BioWare,_ Sherlock _by Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and the BBC. I am none of these wonderful folks/entities. Please don't sue me._

_“What's up, danger?_  
_Ayy, don't be a stranger_  
_’Cause I like high chances that I might lose_  
_I like it all on the edge just like you, ayy_  
_I like tall buildings so I can leap off of 'em_  
_I go hard wit' it no matter how dark it is…”_

_~ ”What’s Up Danger”, Blackway & Black Caviar _

“You know,” Greg Lestrade said, scratching an itch just beneath the rim of his helmet, “I'd have thought it'd be bigger.”

He and three of his closest friends – John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, and Mary Morstan – stood on a landing in a deserted back alley in Denerim. All four were staring at a small glass vial on the cobbling just a few feet in front of them, nestled and nearly hidden by a pile of empty crates and barrels. Dark shapes swirled around a slip of paper within the vial. Despite the mid-morning sun and cloudless sky, the air around the area was unnaturally cold. They were the only people in the alley, and had not seen even one person in the immediate side streets surrounding it. It wasn't surprising, considering the evil presence they had sensed coming within ten feet of the place, telling them they were on the right track. John, the retired templar, had been the first to detect it, and Sherlock, the lone mage, had soon followed suit, but before long the others felt it too. None of them could adequately define or explain it, but the aura now surrounding them was thick with malevolence; even the breeze seemed to whisper a demand to retreat and never return.

Mary was idly, almost nervously, fiddling with one of her daggers, its dragonbone blade gleaming with her favorite poison. Nothing in her years of assassin training had ever prepared her to face an enemy quite like this. “If it had been bigger, it probably would have been found sooner.” She bit her lip. “And a lot of people would have died.”

“Indeed.” Sherlock's comment held no warm sentiment, just cool reason. “A letter to Divine Amara III sent in 5:71 Exalted states that just one revenant killed an entire unit –”

“Sherlock?” John, his partner in every respect, spoke up.

Sherlock looked at him. “Not helping?”

“No.”

Sherlock obliged. The four were once again silent. All of them, even Sherlock, were armed to the teeth. The equipment they'd assembled was impressive indeed – the only loose guideline, as John put it, had been “Choose stuff that has a name” – and they had spent much of their trek here admiring and discussing their fine new gear, if only as a distraction from what they were about to face. Hopefully it would be enough.

John surveyed the area. The landing was fairly large from a practical perspective – about twelve feet square from the alley entrance – but to a fighter's eye, it was _tiny_ , especially considering half the length was swallowed up by the door to a long-abandoned house and only the side opposite the entrance had ramparts. The mere several feet of platform extending from the door was only a gaping stretch of paving topping off a stairway down into the alley. One false step would send an unlucky traveler tumbling down a long flight of hard stone stairs.

“Are we mad for even considering this?” he wondered aloud. “Or can two rogues, a mage, and a warrior really defeat a revenant?”

“Can't it be both?” Sherlock asked offhandedly.

The other three stared at him for a moment. Leave it to the maddest member of their group to make the safest, sanest observation.

Mary chuckled slightly. “Perhaps it can. Don't think of it in those terms, John. Think of it this way: can a Blackstone Irregular, an ex-Crow, a Harrowed blood mage –” she did not miss John's slight flinch at that descriptor, but made no comment “– and an ex-templar defeat a revenant?”

John nodded, seeing her point; he _had_ suggested they choose weapons with names, and come to think of it, _they_ had all made names for themselves, in their own way.

“Not to mention,” Sherlock said slowly, “that according to Surana's journals, when she and her companions defeated the other five Corpse Walkers, in addition to five other revenants they encountered throughout their travels, all of them were taken on in mixed groups. On four occasions, she was the only mage.”

“Thank you, Sherlock,” said Mary, genuinely appreciative and without a hint of sarcasm. “See, John, there you go. We have historic precedent on our side!” She smiled at him. “You wanted to finish this for Arya, didn't you? Well, look how she managed.”

John considered. That was also true. “Do _you_ think we can?” he asked her.

To his shock, she shook her head. “No.” When the others looked askance at her, she laughed. “I _know_ we can.”

The other three joined in her mirth, more to break the tension than anything else. After a few moments, quiet fell again, the only noise the background bustle of the city around them.

“Remind me again why I'm stuck in the back with the bow and arrows?” Greg half-grumbled.

“Because we need another ranged fighter,” John said patiently. “And between you and Mary, as she so charmingly put it last night, 'You've got the grip' –”

“'And I've got the rip,'” Mary finished. Her grin was apologetic. “Sorry, Greg, but you know I never got the hang of archery. I'm a total butterfingers with a bow. Besides, John's right; you're going to be very important. We need all the range we can get. And besides,” she added, her smile turning mischievous, “don't tell me you really want to get up close and personal with a hostile, reawakened demon that had been enjoying a nice long nap?”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Greg said, returning her smile, “I think Sherlock and I will do just fine in back.”

“Going off of that,” John said finally, “would anyone like to go over strategy again?” Three heads – one fair, one dark, one silver, all respectively covered by helmets and a cowl – all shook no. “Well, best get started, then. Everyone get into position.”

“Wait.” Sherlock stopped John as the former templar started to move closer to the vial. Mary and Greg paused too, to watch quietly. “Kiss for luck?”

John smiled a little and shook his head, as he always did at this little pre-battle ritual of theirs. “Yes. And no.” He moved closer and whispered, “Not for luck.”

Sherlock smiled too, and leaned down to give his templar a chaste, but tender kiss. Mary cooed from a distance; Greg went slightly red as he gave her a sidelong glance, and Mary wondered if he really thought she wouldn't notice.

The couple broke apart with some reluctance, briefly lacing their fingers. “Love you,” John murmured before they separated and Sherlock moved to where Greg was now standing, right next to the ramparts at a safe distance.

Mary and John exchanged smiles as he approached the barrels. She and Greg were the only ones who knew why Sherlock hadn't returned John's “I love you”. If John wanted to hear Sherlock say it back, they'd both have to survive the battle. She thought the idea was rather romantic, actually.

Greg and Sherlock readied themselves and turned to face the wall where John was poised, and where Mary crouched next to the crates, both with their weapons drawn.

John closed his eyes to whisper a brief prayer. “Everyone ready?” he asked. After receiving three nods in response, he turned to look at his partner. “Sherlock, the honor is yours.” _After all, you're the reason we're on this mad quest,_ he added silently.

The mage nodded and raised his staff. With one flick, all their weapons glowed with telekinetic energy. Narrowing his gaze, he took aim and shot a single bolt of magic at the vial.

The thin, fragile vial shattered. The slip of paper blew away in a haze of mist and smoke that stung their eyes. When it cleared…nothing stood in its place.

Bewildered, all four stared in silence for a long moment.

Until a low growl sounded from behind them.

They whirled on their heels to see a monstrous creature materializing at the top of the stairway behind them. It towered at least two heads over Sherlock and wielded a sword to match its height, an enormous shield half its size clutched in its other hand. Its massive armor was gnarled with corruption and splattered with the blood of enemies long dead, and red eyes glowed coldly from within a twisted and spiked helmet.

In one swift motion, it drew its sword. The toothed and jagged blade gleamed in the sunlight.

“Well,” John said slowly, “ _that_ was unexpected.”

Immediately he snapped into action. “Same strategy, different positions!” he shouted, running headlong towards the stairs. “Everyone _move!_ ”

Greg and Sherlock darted towards the back wall as Mary scurried off in the same direction, running to join John near the revenant. In an instant, the revenant unleashed a burst of energy that knocked them all backwards; Greg and Sherlock were smashed against the wall, Mary was hurled into the door, and John was slammed into the crates.

Recovering quickly, Greg and Sherlock wasted no time unleashing a steady stream of missiles at the revenant, magical and otherwise. Mary picked herself up and rushed around the door to the head of the stairs. Groaning slightly, John got to his feet and gripped his beloved Oathkeeper tightly, running to meet the creature head-on.

The revenant swung its sword to meet his; the two blades' clanging was deafening, and the force nearly sent John careening. He kept his balance, spinning around and swinging his sword sideways. The revenant, still dodging and deflecting Greg and Sherlock's assaults, roared and blocked John's blow with its shield. John saw the opening and slashed at the creature's torso. The revenant barely faltered.

Mary circled the revenant from the side. Her assassin's eye quickly spotted weaknesses in the creature's armor and struck. Her attacks were swift and precise; as the revenant swung its sword her way, her nimble feet saved her from decapitation and brought her back to strike again.

Greg and Sherlock moved as one towards the crates, their attacks relentless. Greg's arrows whistled as Sherlock's magical bolts soared through the air, nearly all of them finding their mark. The revenant roared as it tried to deflect the attacks, but John persisted, drawing the revenant's attention back to him the instant it wavered.

And soon the revenant seemed to realize this.

Unexpectedly, it jammed its sword into the pavement. Caught off-guard, John had no chance to react before the creature slammed its shield into him, unleashing another blast of energy that sent the others reeling. Thrown back several feet, the wind knocked out of him, John lifted his head as he felt himself being _pulled_ , quickly and forcefully by an unseen hand, toward the revenant and its recovered blade.

Panicked, he tried to scramble to his feet, but the creature's hold was firm. He was dragged across the pavement, his armor scraping painfully over the stone, right towards the massive blade ready to skewer. Struggling, gasping, he cried out.

Mary, dizzy after being thrown beside the stairs, looked up at his cry and gasped.

“Greg!” she screamed. “It's got John!”

Making a split-second decision, Greg notched, drew and fired an arrow. With deadly precision, it hit its mark, shattering on impact. The revenant howled and turned, swinging its sword just before John smashed into its body right where the blade had been. He fell back, stunned, but the creature paid him no mind.

Sherlock started to run to John, but Greg grabbed his arm. “Don't! You'll get yourself killed. We need a group heal!”

Sherlock nodded and raised his staff. Immediately the others were bathed in the blue glow of rejuvenating energy. Within moments they were no longer staggering and back on their feet.

Greg, having drawn the creature's attention, immediately began running to his right in the small space, firing arrows with each step. Sherlock shot him a look saying _And John thinks_ I'm _an idiot_ before running in the opposite direction, matching Greg bolt for bolt. The revenant growled and began to advance…

…and was promptly halted by Oathkeeper. “No, you don't!” John shouted, pushing the revenant's blade away with his own. Snarling, the revenant swung its blade around again, only to meet John's shield. With the creature's attention firmly on him, John met its attacks blow for blow, blocking and slashing at every opportunity. As he began to back away, the creature followed, giving Mary plenty of room. Ducking Greg's arrows, she darted behind the revenant and whipped out her daggers, sweeping them in a crisscross arc, hitting every chink in the revenant's armor.

Their attacks continued for some time, but Greg soon noticed that whenever the revenant seemed to be faltering, it would quickly regain its strength.

“It's regenerating!” he yelled breathlessly over the clangs of his comrades' weapons. “We've got to stop it!”

“And I have just the thing!” Sherlock answered.

When John turned to look, Sherlock was standing just a few feet away, staff slung on his back.

“Sherlock, what are you –!” He stopped himself just in time; no need to point out Sherlock to the revenant.

Sherlock yanked a small dagger from his belt, pushed up his sleeve and slashed down his arm. With a shout he flung the crimson spray at the revenant, splattering the creature in scarlet. His outstretched hands began to glow white as he chanted, and the drops glowed too, enveloping the creature in a patchwork of light. The revenant lurched upwards, as if pulled by an invisible string, then began to jerk violently as the patches of light dissipated. For the first time it appeared to be weakening.

“Don't stop attacking!” Sherlock yelled. “The spell won't last long!”

As Mary, Greg, and John quickly recovered from their astonishment, they resumed their attacks – and the creature was not so quick to rebound, meeting their blows more weakly. Sherlock began to heal himself, catching his breath. The revenant, seeming to finally notice him, tried to swing its sword around, but was stopped by John and Mary, John taking a swipe across the chest for his trouble. So instead, the creature began to draw Sherlock in. As the mage tried vainly to escape its grasp, the revenant struck out with its shield, just missing Mary and sending Sherlock flying towards the stairs.

“Mary!” John yelled. “Get Sherlock!”

Mary wasted no time rushing to the stairs. She covered the distance in a few quick leaps and made a desperate grab for Sherlock's hand as he fell backwards. His fingers clenched around hers with his neck just inches from the steps.

His size, nearly twice that of hers, began to pull at her. Mary's boots began to slip on the pavement. She gritted her teeth as tightly as she squeezed his hand. No way was she letting him fall.

"If you fall, I'll kill you!" she shouted.

"You won't get the chance," Sherlock gritted out.

Fighting to keep her balance, Mary managed to clasp her other hand around his. With all her strength, she pulled. She didn't relax even as his feet stabilized beside her. Moments later he was standing again; only then did she release her grip.

Nodding his thanks, he rejoined the fight – at a safe distance.

His spell was wearing off, but the damage had been done. The revenant's attacks seemed desperate, lashing out randomly as it continued to soak up Greg's arrows and Sherlock's bolts. Mary and John had taken the most damage, and Mary was slowing down as her gashes and scrapes multiplied, but Sherlock's quick healing ensured neither of them collapsed.

“Why – won't – you – _die!_ ” Greg shouted, punctuating each word with a soaring arrow.

“We've – almost – got it – Greg!” Mary called back, gasping air with each stab.

“Just – one – more – hit – should do it!” John choked out, his stamina finally wearing down.

Sherlock was too busy biting the cork out of a lyrium potion flask – his third already during the fight – and gulping down the contents to answer.

While John kept the revenant's attention, Mary's sharp-eyed gaze took in the area. There had to be some way they could corner it… Her eyes fell on the stairs again, and she was struck with an idea. _One more hit, hm?_

“Greg, John, Sherlock,” she shouted, “force it back here! I've got an idea! Wait till I come back up!”

As she spoke, she was rushing toward the stairs, daggers firmly in hand. As John saw her dash down the steps, her agile limbs almost dancing down the precarious slope, he saw what she was trying to do.

“You heard her!” he called to the others. So saying, he bashed his shield into the creature's chest with all his strength. The revenant, now noticeably unsteady, swayed and staggered backward. Greg and Sherlock hit it with a steady stream of arrows and bolts, daring to move closer with each one.

Together, the three of them drove the revenant to the top of the stairs. Despite its weakness, it was too heavy to push down the steps. And it couldn't be killed by a broken neck; they all knew that. But they also knew that wasn't what Mary had in mind.

Mary had made it to the ground by the time they had the revenant in position. She had only seconds to make her move.

Taking in a deep breath, she pulled back and began to dash up the steps, taking them two at a time, picking up speed with each stride. Moments later she was near the top.

“ _Now!_ ” she yelled as she pushed herself off the top step, leaping into the air with her daggers poised to kill, aiming at the one weakness she'd spotted in the revenant's armor but hadn't been able to reach.

“Die, you son of the Void!” she shouted as she came back to earth, plunging her daggers into the creature's neck.

The howl the creature unleashed was haunting, unearthly. And as she jumped off the revenant, twisting her daggers free in a fatal slash across the exposed flesh, and the creature wavered where it stood, beginning to spin in the direction she had gone…

John swung Oathkeeper in a finishing, decisive blow.

Greg unleashed a final, fatal arrow.

Sherlock spent the last of his mana on a single blast of lightning.

All four found their mark at the same instant.

None of them would ever be sure who had struck the killing blow. And none of them cared.

The revenant collapsed at their feet, cold and dead.

There was a long minute of silence.

“Is…is it really…?” Greg asked between pants.

Sherlock, who'd just finished his fourth lyrium potion, waved his staff; the glow vanished from their weapons. He approached the revenant casually and held a hand over it. After a moment, he nodded. “Yes.”

Almost immediately the once-cold air began to warm, and the evil the four of them had felt since they'd arrived began to dissipate like morning dew under noon sunlight. As one, they all let out quiet sighs of relief, releasing all the pent-up tension they'd been building up through the fight.

“That's…that's good…” John said vaguely, beginning to sway. Alarmed, the others saw the color draining from his face and his eyes rolling back before he fainted. Mary and Greg caught him just in time, gently laying him on the ground.

Sherlock, who'd been studying the revenant with interest, suddenly snapped to life. “John!” He raced to his partner, his hands darting all over John's body. “Breathing even. Pulse elevated. John, John, wake up –”

“Sherlock, calm down. It'll be all right,” Mary said soothingly, touching his shoulder. “You can't heal him properly if you're not focused, okay? Here, I'll give him a health poultice while you catch your breath.”

Sherlock nodded, his expression almost numb as he took in deep breaths, watching Mary closely as she pulled a flask from her belt, gently lifted John's head and slowly poured it into his mouth, careful not to spill a drop. As John swallowed the thick liquid, his eyelashes fluttered.

Immediately Sherlock's hands began to move over John's body, his gloved fingers glowing and eyes closed as he concentrated. Greg and Mary stood back, applying poultices to their own injuries as they watched. Fortunately Sherlock's preventive healing had worked well throughout the fight; neither was seriously hurt.

“He took the worst beating out of all of us,” Greg murmured.

Mary nodded. “But he wanted to. Insisted on it. And,” she said soberly, “that was probably the best strategy. Can you imagine if any of us had had to take that?”

Greg shook his head as color returned to John's face and his eyes slowly opened, to see Sherlock looking down at him, cradling his head in his lap. Gradually, weakly, he smiled.

“I love you, too,” Sherlock whispered.

John's smile grew wider as he lifted his head to meet Sherlock's for a kiss. Mary smiled coyly at Greg, and rather enjoyed the slight flush that tinted his neck. She knew it wasn't the sun.

Eventually, after another poultice, Sherlock eased John up into a sitting position. John's plate-gloved hand squeezed his as he looked at his friends, who were smiling with relief. He cocked his head as he looked at Mary.

“‘Son of the Void’? Really?” he asked her.

Mary grinned sheepishly. “Well, 'son of a bitch' didn't seem quite right. Do demons that possess corpses _have_ mothers?”

“Not sure the Chantry's bothered pondering that one,” John replied.

“I could always check with Moriarty –” Sherlock began.

John shot him a withering look. “Don't even joke about that.”

“Speaking of which,” Greg asked, “what was that spell you used in the fight?”

“Curse of Mortality.” Sherlock shrugged. “Enhanced with a bit of blood magic.”

“That's what it's called, hm?” Greg coughed. “Well, I suppose we all have to die at some point.” He kicked the corpse with his toe. “As this thing had to learn.”

“But not us. Not today.” Mary grinned. “In the words of an old friend of mine,” she said triumphantly, her Antivan accent prominent, “'we are ridiculously awesome!'”

All four laughed in agreement. They looked together at the evil they'd helped banish, quietly savoring their victory. Greg spoke first. “So, what do we do with this thing now?”

John thought for a moment. “Well, the safest thing to do would be to burn it…so, Sherlock, if you wouldn't mind –?”

“Gladly.” Sherlock aimed his staff.

“Wait, Sherlock.” Mary held out a hand. “I want to inspect it first.”

“You mean loot it,” Greg said dryly.

“Well, yes.”

John stared at her as Sherlock helped him to his feet. “ _Seriously?_ ”

Mary shrugged. “Force of habit.”

Fortunately, her habit paid off, as within moments of searching the creature's gear, she let out a cry of triumph.

“Ooh, look!” She held up a gold ring set with a stunning green emerald, its glint almost blinding. “This ought to cover tonight's drink tab _very_ nicely.”

“And tomorrow's, and the day after that, and the one after _that_ …” Greg marveled as he took the ring from her. “Most thoughtful of this undead creature, wouldn't you say?”

“Indeed! Though not nearly as thoughtful as your typical Deep Roads spider.”

“I'm not going to ask how you know that.”

When Mary had completed her inspection, Sherlock spread a liberal amount of grease over the corpse and cast a single stream of flame. Within seconds a raging fire had erupted and engulfed the body, and Sherlock nodded with a hint of smug satisfaction at the impressed looks on his friends' faces.

While the others watched the revenant burn, Greg explored the landing to see if it had dropped anything else. Nothing turned up at first, but after a minute or two…

“Hey!” he called out. “Here's the paper that was in the vial.”

The paper had been blown near the entrance to the alley, lodged behind an empty barrel. It was slightly crumpled, but still legible. Greg picked it up and smoothed it out. On reading the contents, he blanched.

“Greg?” Mary asked, seeing his look. “Is something wrong?”

Greg just walked over, holding the note out. “Look.”

The other three all gathered around him to read the note.

 

**_Binding the Sixth Corpse Walker_ **  
_United we purge this realm of your corruption._  
_The smallest among us binds you by your true name._  
_Anton Wither, revenant and perversion of a friend not met._  
_Your strength and guile denied by innocence._  
_Andraste hold you, demon, and bind your rage for eternity._

 

Six thumbprints in blood marked the end of the text. The one at the end was small, no larger than that of a child.

Mary gasped, John bit his lip, Greg shook his head, and even Sherlock looked slightly disturbed. He even bowed his head when the others did, though he did not join them in prayer. None of them wanted to think for long about what was meant by “a friend not met.”

“Well, that's two things put to rest then,” Mary said quietly, after they had stood in silence for a minute or two.

“Indeed,” John said. He glanced up at the bright spring sky and the smoke that was curling upwards from the now-dying fire. “I hope Arya knows what we did.”

Mary put a hand on his shoulder. “I'm sure she does. And she's proud, and grateful.” She was quiet for a moment before looking at Sherlock. “And it wouldn't have been possible without you.”

The other three were well-prepared for Sherlock's answering smirk. “Well, of _course._ ” They were not expecting what he said next, in a softer tone. “But I could not have done it without all of you.”

They smiled at him in response.

John held out a hand to Greg. “Can I have that?” he asked. “I'd like to send it to King Alistair. I think he'd like to know what we did.”

“Sure.” Greg handed over the note and John pocketed it. “Now,” the mercenary said, “what do you say we all get cleaned up and then have a round at the Gnawed Noble?”

“We always go to the Gnawed Noble,” John said.

“Yeah, because it's the only halfway decent watering hole in this city.” Greg raised an eyebrow. “Unless you're saying you'd rather go to The Pearl…?”

“I vote The Pearl,” Mary piped up.

John gave her a look. “You just want to go there so you can bet with Greg and me on how many times someone will try to hire Sherlock.”

Mary grinned cheekily. “Are you afraid of losing again?”

John scoffed. “No way!”

“We won't,” Greg added.

“The Pearl it is, then!” Mary said happily. She looked at Sherlock, who was dousing the last of the fire with some ice; the ashes were already beginning to blow away in the light breeze. “Unless, of course, you have any objections…?”

“None at all, Mary,” Sherlock said. He smiled. “It is rather amusing watching them lose bets, don't you agree?”

John shot him a mock glare. “Don't even _think_ about rigging the bet again, Sherlock.”

Sherlock feigned surprise. “I'd never dream of such a thing.”

John rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you wouldn't.” He tipped his head towards Mary. “Because _she'd_ suggest it to you first.”

“Can we at least agree that we're all going to get cleaned up first?” Greg broke in. He was peering down at his armor, gingerly touching the strange black substance that had showered it when the revenant breathed its last. “I don't know what this stuff is, but I'm pretty sure it's not healthy.”

“Greg, if you wouldn't mind…?” Sherlock didn't wait for an answer; he had already produced a flask and was using a small metal tool to scrape samples of the black substance into it.

Greg just raised an eyebrow. “You know, normally when someone gets this close to me and starts touching my armor, I have to insist they buy me dinner first.”

“Oh, is that how it works with you?” Mary said. She smiled. “Good to know.”

“Greg, your pulse has just risen, and you're awfully warm all of a sudden,” Sherlock said as he took the last of his samples. “Are you going to faint, too?”

“No – no, I'll be fine,” Greg stammered, doing his best not to look at Mary, whose expression was rather saucy. “I – I think I just need a drink.”

“Sounds good to me,” John said. As Sherlock moved to his side, they exchanged a glance, missed by both their friends. Eventually Greg and Mary would get their act together. Maybe. ( _Not that we're the experts,_ John thought with amusement. _We only took – what? A year and a half?_ )

For now, though, there was a celebration to be had – of victory, of friendship, of teamwork triumphing over evil, and of hope for many, many more journeys together. And of being the luckiest people in the world to have found each other.

Side by side, talking and laughing together, the quartet walked out of the alley, on to their next adventure.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed. :) Truthfully, two rogues/one mage/one warrior is my favorite party build. (Rogue is my favorite class, and easily the best after mage, IMO; they're so awesomely versatile.) My usual (and probably the easiest) way to take out the revenants is with three ranged fighters and a tank, but let's face it, that would have made a rather boring story._  
>  _Btw, “You've got the grip and I've got the rip” is a reference to the talking sword Lilarcor from_ Baldur's Gate II, Dragon Age's _spiritual predecessor. When he's in the hands of Minsc (and slightly modded), Minsc may say, “I have asked Larry many times why he is my sword. I say, 'Larry, why are you Minsc's sword?' and he says –” and Lilarcor's response is: “Because you got the grip and I got the rip! Yeeaaaaaaahhhh!” (Yeah…they're both awesome. But what part of_ BGII _isn't?)_  
>  _Also, I think we can all agree that_ Mary is a tease. _But that's why I'm having so much fun with her. ;)_  
>  _Thank you to all the YouTubers who kindly posted their fights with the various revenants throughout the game – even though most of them were only a minute and a half long because of how ridiculously awesome your character builds were.[This page](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Revenant_\(strategy\)) on the Dragon Age Wiki was also a great resource (check it out, _Origins _players!). And another thank you to the authors of[these](http://thewritepractice.com/pow-fight-scenes/) [articles](https://kathytemean.wordpress.com/2010/11/23/12-tips-for-writing-action-scenes/) with advice about writing action/fight scenes; check them out if you'd like some great tips!_


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